War is hell.
Like a killer forest fire,
Like cancer under a microscope,
His jaw was in his throat,
The blood there was thick and shiny,
He was folded in with the war,
He was part of the waste.
The poor bastard just fell,
Not like the movies.
Nothing much ever happened,
They moved slowly in the rain,
To carry something was to hump it,
To hump meant to walk,
Just flat and uninvolved,
He was not there,
He could not bring himself to worry,
He was beyond that,
It was just the endless march,
Without purpose,
Nothing won or lost,
No volition, no will,
It was automatic.
The guy was a number one pal,
Would always volunteer.
A powerful, implacable beauty,
An immense pleasure of aliveness.
Your truest self,
The human being you want to be,
A kind of godliness,
It was a love story.
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